


Glass Shards

by Chancy_Lurking



Series: Glass [1]
Category: Oculus (2014), SCP Foundation
Genre: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not dangerous,” Tim shot back instantly.</p><p>“No,” Dr. Starlight agreed, the hand not presently propping up her head playing with the corner of the file folder she’d been reading. Her gaze locked back on his, eyebrow arched slightly. “But you have encountered a very dangerous item, correct?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass Shards

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for one of my best friends! Not a death!fix, but still (I think) a little more satisfying to swallow than the real ending!

Five steps from the edge of the bed and Tim ran his hand up the wall as far up as he could reach. He found the nick in the paint with his fingertips, tracing the familiar shape again. He did this without looking. One thousand one hundred and thirty.

Two steps to the left and there was the sink; he traced his hand around the metal, tapping the top of both handles. There was no mirror above the sink – a potential weapon, everything was in here – but he knew this even without opening his eyes. The faucet dripped and he heard this as he passed it, the tinny repetitive thump of water hitting the bowl echoing around the concrete room. His shoe hit the bottom of the urinal – he moved on without touching it, though he listened as its pipes clattered in the wall. He hit the corner and ran his hands over the wall where there were tally marks for the number of days – not his days, his time here or anywhere else didn’t matter. He turned and took three steps and his knees hit the end of the bed.

It was concrete, jutting out from the wall and connected to the floor. It did not echo, even if you kicked it with all your strength. It made no sound except for the dull ‘ _thunk!_ ’ of flesh on concrete. He briefly considered doing it again, just to hear the sound, something familiar and yet different, but he refrained. He didn’t want them to come in and see blood on the white bricks. Or were the bricks grey? He could have opened his eyes and checked, but he decided against it. The base of the bed, like the rest of the room, was gray or white. Those parameters were narrow enough – he didn’t care what the room looked like. He walked around to the front of the bed before turning back to the wall, finding the nick in the paint with his fingertips. One thousand one hundred and thirty-one.

He walked in circles and grounded himself in the loop of sounds. He recalled the sounds that landed him here – not ‘here’ as in ‘prison,’ he didn’t intentionally think about those sounds at all, ever, but ‘here’ as in ‘solitary confinement’. There was “murderer” and “lunatic” and “sisterfucker” just before the sound of breaking bone, scarcely heard over the roaring in his ears. The cyclical noise of life in this room was all the noise Tim could handle. All other sounds, even that of voices, were grating to his senses.

Hearing the words “Timothy Allen Russel”, especially, had become particularly caustic.

Tim liked the quiet dark solitary confinement provided; he loathed to be removed from it. Hearing “Timothy Allen Russel” – like his father said when he’d gotten in trouble, before his father became the meaning of trouble itself – meant he was about to be flung back into the violent light of general population. The cycle would be broken and so would his peace.

So when the door opened and a voice called “Timothy Allen Russel,” he briefly considered attacking the guard. He wouldn’t even have to do real damage – just a black eye and he’d be back in enough trouble to stay isolated – but figured that would be a toss-up between staying in solitary and going to super max. He touched the chip – _one thousand one hundred and thirty-two_ – and turned to the door.

“Step out of the cell,” the man said. Tim stepped out, because agreeable inmates get rewarded. Sometimes in food and sometimes in free time; Tim was hoping his reward would be to stay in longer.

However, in this case, his reward was a face full of gas and a black bag over his head.

Tim didn’t recall hitting the ground.

//

Tim knew immediately he was not in his cell or any cell he had ever been in even before he opened his eyes. The dead giveaway was the cushion under his back; the ward didn’t own anything that soft or in such good repair, especially nothing that would be accessible to inmates. His eyes flew open, though he winced and shut them back immediately under the unusually bright lighting of the room. He was nearly blind as he launched up off the bed, finding himself – surprisingly – unrestrained.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice called from behind him.

He whipped around to see a woman seated on top of a desk, her glasses on the bridge of her nose and an open file on her knee. She smiled at him before sliding down to her feet, “Good afternoon, Mr. Russel,” she said brightly, clinically. “Or do you prefer Tim?”

Tim didn’t reply, watching carefully as she lowered herself to sit at the small table at the center of the room. Her voice had summoned more activity; the door just a few feet – six steps – to his right opened and a man stepped in. His job, Tim could easily tell, was just to stand there and look threatening. It would be more effective on someone with either something to lose or a better sense of self-preservation; as it was, it just made Tim’s skin crawl.

“I have to apologize for the unnecessary roughness before,” the woman tried again, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “If you’ll have a seat, I assure you, I can explain.”

Tim took the three steps to the chair across from her, sitting down slowly, “Who are you?” he said, his voice rough and low with disuse. “Where am I?”

The woman folded her hands on the table between them, her posture loose and open as she continued to smile at him. “My name is Dr. Starlight. You are being moved into my facility for the duration of your sentence.” Her voice was light but without the caustic forced cheeriness or well-meaning attitude all medical personnel were known to exude. She sounded dead inside and though Tim thought he could relate, he wasn’t about to give in to any soft feelings for someone who’d had him kidnapped.

He couldn’t quite help the harsh laugh that broke out of him. “You aren’t a doctor,” he said looking away from her. “Even if the fake name wasn’t a big enough tip off, I’ve spent the majority of my life around shrinks. You’re not very good at this.”

Dr. Starlight appeared unaffected, hands still folded, back still straight. “This? What is it you think I’m trying to _do_?”

Tim scoffed. “How could I even guess? You _drugged_ me, threw a bag over my head, and had me taken to a ‘facility’ you didn’t even name.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you haven’t cuffed me to this table, so even with–” He turned to motion at the guard, “–with your meathead, ex-warden friend glaring at me, you aren’t government either. I don’t know what you are or what you want from me.”

There was a pause before Dr. Starlight next spoke, the friendly lit of her voice gone flat. “Do you even care?”

The short answer was ‘not a single shit’. He was never getting out of prison and nobody was ever going to believe his story. He’d screamed it until he was blue in the face for the first full week of his sentence and every courtroom and office he went before that, but that had started more fights than anything. He was the crazy one, he was easy pickings. Nobody gave a shit what happened to him and neither did he, but Tim would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that. He kept his mouth shut.

That seemed to be answer enough for the good doctor.

Dr. Starlight’s eyes shone with interest then, a predatory kind. He was _food_ to her now; it was just a matter of whether she’d play with him before she ate him. “Ok, let’s play ball then.” She leaned on one elbow, her jaw resting against her hand as she spoke. “You are in a facility run by an organization called ‘The Foundation’, end quote, no joke. Just _The_ _Foundation_. It is our job to, well…” She paused, eyes rolling up as she thought for a moment. “Let’s just say we contain potentially dangerous items for the betterment of society.”

“I’m not dangerous,” Tim shot back instantly.

“No,” Dr. Starlight agreed, the hand not presently propping up her head playing with the corner of the file folder she’d been reading. Her gaze locked back on his, eyebrow arched slightly. “But you have _encountered_ a very dangerous item, correct?”

There was not more than a split second of confusion before the cause of the horror story that had taken over Tim’s life slammed back to the forefront of his mind. The thing that had killed his family and ruined his life, taking everyone and everything away from him.

_The Lasser Glass._

Tim leapt to his feet, incensed. This was some new psychiatric exercise, it had to be. They wanted him to give up the story as fake. Maybe making him tell the whole thing, pretending to listen, would trip him up enough that the “delusion” would fall apart, right? He _knew_ how the fuck this story sounded, he’d lived it in all its horrifying absurdity. It was a disaster that shouldn’t have been able to happen in reality, but it _had_ and it’d cost him everything. He didn’t need some stranger in a lab coat to poke around his brain and see what fell out when she acted like a believer. “Don’t mock me!” he shouted.

“Sit down!” The guard behind him shouted and Tim realized belatedly that the object in his hand wasn’t a billystick, but a sinister looking cattle prod linked to a battery pack on his waist. There was enough volts in that thing to possibly stop his _heart,_ let alone incapacitate him. He took a half step back.

“It’s ok. Leave him alone,” Dr. Starlight sighed, folding her arms back on the table. “As he said, he’s not dangerous.” There was almost a smile on her face when she turned back to Tim, “So then you do know what this is about.”

“I’m not–,” Tim started, but his voice broke and he stopped himself. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, pointing at her furiously. “I am _not_ defending myself to one more _shrink_ trying to talk about PTSD or false memories or–.”

“But you said I wasn’t a shrink,” Dr. Starlight interrupted, pointing back at him like it was truly just a gentle reminder.

Tim scowled at her. “Well maybe you’re just a better liar than I thought.”

For the first time, Dr. Starlight looked genuinely offended. “I do not lie, sir. You don’t have any power here, so I have no reason to waste lies on you.”

“Don’t you now?” Tim scowled, sitting back down on the cot away from her, “Well. I feel so much better knowing that, thanks for the chat.”

“We’re here and not in a federal prison because I believe your story,” She replied shortly. “The least you could do is _hear_ mine.” When Tim just stared at her blankly, she flipped open the file and read out, “The Lasser Glass.”

Tim’s stomach turned just hearing the name read aloud, “What about it?” He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dr. Starlight held up a high definition photo of the mirror in all its horror, hanging on a new wall, in a new room. A picture he had never seen before and he had seen _all_ of them before.

“Is this the object?” Dr. Starlight asked, though she could tell by his face she didn’t need to.

“Who took that picture?” Tim asked, feeling nauseous.

Dr. Starlight looked at the image absently, with too much curiosity and not enough horror for Tim’s liking, “A colleague of mine. He just hung it in his house a few days ago.”

“No,” Tim stood suddenly, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. He pointed frantically at the door. “No, no, tell him to leave now! He has got to get rid of-!”

“Consider it done!” Dr. Starlight interrupted brightly. “The Foundation runs all the places anomalous items go when they need to be ‘gotten rid of’. SCP-2659, or as you know it, The Lasser Glass is no longer a danger to the general public.” She held up another photo, a satellite image – coordinates and dates carefully blacked out – of a large estate surrounded by expansive nothingness; it looked like it backed up to a desert. She extended the picture to him, making note of his trembling hands without comment as he took it from her. “He purchased the house and surrounding area for the Foundation. The item is secure.”

Though most of the information was redacted, there was one thing circled in red:

_NO CIVILIAN ACCESS; NEAREST RESIDENCE: 15 MI DUE EAST_

There was a part of him – the bitter, _vacant_ part that was the majority of his personality at this point – that said it was too little too late. There was nothing he or anyone else could do to “un-kill” the victims that mirror had already taken. His whole family, _everyone_ he loved was still dead and nobody had been there to stop it. What the fuck did it even matter now?

But all the same he could have wept.

The mirror had been taken somewhere it couldn’t cause any more pain. Or… at least it _seemed_ like it had.

Tim looked up at Dr. Starlight, tears blurring his vision. His voice sounded far away, even to his own ears, when he spoke. “If this is some elaborate mind game, it’s a really sick one, you know that?”

“It’s not,” Dr. Starlight replied, tapping the table impatiently with her nail, “Now, will you sit down and listen to what I have to say?” When Tim made no move towards the chair, she flipped the folder closed. She pushed to her feet breezing past him, “Or if standing suits you better, let’s take a walk, shall we?”

Though he considered not following, he figured the worst they could do to him would be pretty awful regardless of whether or not he left the room. Looking over at the guard – who seemed more than willing to do anything the hard way if asked – Tim hurried after Dr. Starlight into the hallway.

It stretched so far in each direction that Tim nearly got dizzy staring at the double steel doors on either end. Dr. Starlight was nearly halfway down one, a flurry of other people already gathering around her. A few looked at him curiously when he approached, others quickly took back the files she had signed and left without so much as glancing at him.

“Though you find it hard to believe, my name _is_ real,” Dr. Starlight said when he appeared at her shoulder, glancing at him. “However, you are under no obligation to use your real name in vernacular. What will we call you?”

“Oculus,” Tim said after a moment, following as she started to walk again. She swiped her access card beside the door, the air lock hissing open to another long hallway, this one connected to four others that favored tunnels more than legitimate hallways. This place was a maze, even if he decided to break and run for it, he’d probably just wind up back where he started, and _that_ was only if he was lucky.

Dr. Starlight actually laughed out loud when he spoke, “Well, 2659 is not exactly _circular_ , but we know what’s eating you, don’t we?”

“Hasn’t eaten me yet,” Tim replied dryly though it made his throat tight.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Dr. Starlight said, punching in a code before leaning down to a _retinal scanner_ to get them into the next area. They walked over metal caging that clicked loudly under their shoes, walking around what looked like a giant air filter. Tim could not see the bottom of the area they were walking over, the sprawling darkness beneath them distracting him away from registering what Dr. Starlight had said at first.

“Wait, what does that-?” He started to ask, but his heart sunk when the door at the end of the hallway whooshed open to reveal a man staring up into the Lasser Glass where it hung suspended on the wall.

He nearly shit himself before he realized it was just a large computer monitor.

“I see everything was set up to your liking,” Dr. Starlight said to the man as she entered the room.

“Yes, quite,” the man replied, not looking away from the screen. “And no casualties as of yet, but I wouldn’t make any bets it’ll stay that way just yet.” He shook his head, muttering mostly to himself, “It’s an odd thing, very odd.”

“What is-?” Tim could hardly speak, his heart jammed in his throat, but the man turned nevertheless, looking cautiously between Tim and Dr. Starlight. Tim didn’t move from his spot in the hallway, “Who are you? What is this?”

“I’m the man who just spent a half-million on a house he can’t even live in,” the man answered crossly, eyes narrowing. “Who’s asking?”

“Dr. Gates,” Dr. Starlight said, turning back to Tim appraisingly. “This is Oculus. Otherwise known as SCP-2659-B or ‘Tim’ for those keeping score at home.”

“Ah,” Dr. Gates replied, his face only slightly less accusing. “I’m sorry for your loss, Oculus. I’d change my name, too, if I were you.” He turned back to the monitor. “And to answer your question, this is the best security system there is on the market– off the market, too.” He crossed to an area of the room Tim couldn’t see, calling back, “We’re keeping a very close eye on this one, believe me.”

Dr. Starlight took in Tim’s shock and treated him softly. She beckoned him with a gentle motion. “The glass isn’t in here, Oculus, don’t worry.”

“I should say not!” Dr. Gates shouted back, “I’m making a motion to leave that thing exactly where it is until I get a handle on exactly _what_ it is.”

“You’re going to study it?” Tim asked, cautiously entering the room. There were several other monitors locked on several other areas of the house as well as a few with real-time environmental stats, everything from temperature and humidity to EMF readings.

Dr. Gates laughed where he was reading something on a computer. “What else are labs for, young man?”

“That is the whole point, Oculus,” Dr. Starlight said. “I wanted you to see what it is we do here, what The Foundation does.” She leaned against the wall by the door, leaving Tim standing alone in the middle of the room. “There are thousands of things out there like the Lasser Glass; we have made it our objective to secure, contain, and protect the public from all of them.”

“That…” Tim couldn’t even wrap his mind around the idea of more than one Lasser Glass out there destroying people’s lives. The Lasser Glass had survived for _three hundred years_ before these people found it. How many people did something have to kill for ‘The Foundation’ to notice it? If the mirror was small enough to fly under the radar, then what the hell else was out there? Tim swallowed, “That sounds terrible.”

“It is and so are we,” Dr. Gates turned around in his chair, folding his hands over his lap. “A lot of what we do here is… not for the faint of heart,” His face pinched and Tim saw something dark come over his eyes. “But I don’t imagine that is something we’ll have to worry about with you, after all you’ve seen.”

Tim’s eyebrows rose at that, “Why would it matter what I could handle?” He turned confusedly between Dr. Gates and Dr. Starlight. “Are you saying you want me to _work_ for you?”

“That’s your choice, Oculus,” Dr. Starlight answered evenly. “None of what you did was your fault and you don’t deserve to suffer for it. You want to forget it all and start a new life in South Africa?” She shrugged. “Once we clear you, we will do that for you.”

“You can make me forget?” Tim asked; it was unheard of, but so was this entire organization. He was willing to believe anything at this point.

“Yes.” Dr. Starlight folded her arms, “One of the ways we _contain_ anomalous objects is by restricting the knowledge of them. You never have to remember the Lasser Glass was even unusual.”

Tim stepped back at that. “But… I was _ten_ when I knew. How much of my memory would I have to lose?”

“You stopped believing shortly before you were released,” Dr. Gates added. “Sometimes therapy is the best anesthetic there is.”

“You would lose everything after you were released,” Dr. Starlight said. “You would be 21. You will remember killing your father to save your sister, who then later died in a car accident.”

Tim scoffed like it hurt, “A car accident.” His brows furrowed and he wiped his face before speaking again, “I’m sensing an ‘or’ here.”

Dr. Starlight smiled mildly. “ _Or_ you remember it all and stay here,” She motioned around the room. “You assist us in our work understanding and containing SCP-2659 and other things like it.”

“You think after a trail of bodies over 300 _years_ long it needs to be contained?” Tim asked, stunned by the level of arrogance that must be involved in convincing yourself you should be the one to make those kinds of life or death decisions. “If anything you should be figuring out how to _smash_ it!”

“2659 is not by _any_ means the oldest or the most lethal SCP presently in our care,” Dr. Gates said almost absently, drawing a sharp look from Dr. Starlight. He rolled his eyes. “We stop the apocalypse on an almost daily basis.”

“And though ‘containing’ it could mean destroying it,” Dr. Starlight added slowly, turning her attention back to Tim. “Further in-house research must be done regardless. Tossing if off a cliff is not going to cut it.”

“It also bears considering,” Dr. Gates said, looking up at the monitor thoughtfully, “That the mirror is _already_ containing whatever entity is inside it. Breaking the glass may very well _free_ it.” He adjusted his glasses before turning his gaze back to Tim. “That’s what _studying_ it will tell us, hopefully. And as you are the only living witness…”

“I could help with that,” Tim finished, making Dr. Gates smile at him.

“At any rate,” Dr. Starlight cut in, “You will either participate in it or never hear of it again.”

Though that had been clear from the start (he would not be allowed to even carry the _knowledge_ of the Lasser Glass back into the real world) Tim still felt a spark of horror at the thought of _never knowing_ what happened to it, the same horror he’d felt when the police dragged him away from his old house. His parents, his _sister_ were – in some way – trapped by that mirror. The Lasser Glass, the act of destroying it or even just keeping track of it, was the last link he had to his family. Though he knew, or at least believed that he would be left none the wiser to any of this should he agree to have his memories removed, he couldn’t help but imagine he would never feel _whole_ again. And even if that was something like how he felt now, the complete absence of memory would just mean he would never figure out _why._ But more than anything, Kaylie had _died_ trying to get him to believe the mirror was dangerous. The thought of only being able to vaguely remember her dying in a car accident that never happened, after all they went through, _pissed him off_. She deserved more than that– they both did.

“What will it be, Oculus?” Dr. Starlight asked. “A new life in a new country, a partner and kids in the future, maybe?” She turned a considering gaze up to the monitor. “Or a new life, here, writing lab reports about the things that go bump in the night?”

Dr. Gates hummed at that, scratching his stubble. “I _could_ use a new research assistant…”

To a normal person, that shouldn’t have been a hard decision. They weren’t going to win the fight in the end, any more than the police were going to eradicate crime. One day something they missed or maybe even something already here was going to kill them all. Why waste his life underground, with no interpersonal connections when he could go out and go to sleep like the rest of the world? When he could have a normal life? Anyone should want that and if there was anyone out there who deserved that it was Timothy Allen Russel. The question was, however, did that person even still exist?

The answer, in short, was no. No, he did not.

Oculus turned to the screen, staring up at the security footage of the Lasser Glass looming over his head. He shut his eyes and listened to the quiet whir of the machinery, imagining the satisfaction he would feel when the alarms that said the mirror was dangerous went off and proved he wasn’t crazy. He imagined blaring alarms saying his sister had not died for nothing. He imagined helping document the experiment that would land the mirror and the evil within it in a roaring incinerator. He wanted to be here and hear this quiet destroyed.

He sounded a touch breathless when he opened his eyes and asked, “Where do I start?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


End file.
